The Minister nodded. ‘I don’t know about the bravery bit, but everything else is correct. What’s more it puts any sort of subterfuge right out of the question; it can be seen – you people can surely see – that I have no axe to grind. So … are you making a point, Mr Goodly?’
The point is that I do have an axe to grind, sir,’ Goodly answered, quietly. ‘We all do. And the way this briefing is going, it strikes me as likely we could have several axes to grind before you’re through. Not with you, you understand. That would be pointless anyway, for my talent tells me that you’re going to be our Minister Responsible for a long time to come. So … not with what you’ve said or what you think, but maybe with what you’ve done and plan to do. Or plan to ask us to do. Unless, of course, there are some damn good reasons.’
‘Do you mind explaining?’ The Minister’s confusion was mounting. ‘But briefly, because I really do have to get on, and-‘
‘Explanations are easy.’ Someone else was on his – no, her – feet: Millicent Cleary, a pretty little telepath whose talent was as yet embryonic. She merely glanced at the Minister but scowled furiously at the back of Paxton’s head where he sat in the first row of seats. ‘Some explanations, anyway. I mean, it was inevitable we’d be monitored eventually, but… by that?’ And still scowling, she tossed her head to give the final word extra emphasis. She was pointing at Paxton.
‘Miss, er – ?’ In his confusion the Minister had forgotten her name. He prided himself on not forgetting names. He looked at her, looked at Paxton.
‘Cleary,’ she said. ‘Millicent . . .’ And she breathlessly continued: ‘Paxton didn’t follow your instructions. He simply ignored your orders. Branch security? Branch business? Oh, that was the handy excuse you gave him – which he scarcely needed – but other people’s business, more like! And his nose right in it!’
The Minister was frowning. He looked harder at Paxton. ‘Can you be more specific, Miss Cleary?’
But she wouldn’t. She could but wouldn’t. What, and tell everyone here that during Paxton’s first month with the Branch she’d caught the shrivelled little scumbag in her mind one night, playing with himself to the purr of her vibrator and the tingling of her senses?
‘He looked at all of us.’ Someone else saved her, his voice strong and gravelly. ‘He looked at the juicy bits, which like it or not we each and every one of us have, and he was doing it before you gave him his brief! Since when, why … by now he’s probably looked at your juicy bits, too!’
And back to the gangling Goodly again: ‘Minister, if you hadn’t taken Paxton out of the organization, we would have. He’s about as trustworthy as a defective contraceptive. If AIDS was a psychic disease, all our brains would be shrivelling to shit right now! All of them!’
He paused to let that sink in, and after a moment: ‘So it seems to us that what you’ve done is to take away the one man we all trust, while at the same time giving us a watchdog who snaps at his keepers. Yes, and you’ve chosen one hell of a time to do it.’ That was twice he’d cursed, and it wasn’t Goodly’s style to swear at all, not even mildly.
Paxton had been cleaning his fingernails, apparently unconcerned, but now his ears reddened up a little. He stood up and turned round, glared at the others where they all stared at him in silent accusation. ‘My talent is . . . unruly!’ he snapped. ‘Also it’s eager, full of all the enthusiasm which you jealous bastards have lost! I’m still finding out about it, still experimenting. It isn’t some bloody bonsai tree you can just force into any old shape!’
Almost as one person they shook their heads; they were the last people he should ever try to convince; his pallid, lame excuses wouldn’t work on them. Each and every one of them, they had it in for Paxton. Finally Ben Trask spoke up, giving their single unified thought shape and substance. ‘You’re a liar, Paxton,’ he said, quite simply. And because Trask was what he was, he didn’t have to enlarge upon his accusation.